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She writes out of a long and deep background of experience with a subtle appreciation of both the Oriental and the Occidental points of view, and has developed a personal art out of a deliberately narrowed vision. "On the Heights," "Prisoners," "Under a Wineglass," and "Cosmic Justice" are the best of these stories.
Lucy noticed the immediate difference in tone, the easy variety of topic, compared with her own sense of difficulty, and her heart swelled with bitterness. Then, to her horror, she saw that, from inattention and ignorance of what might be expected, she had allowed the servants to fill every single wineglass of the four standing at her right positively every one.
"I went in and there was my father fallen forward on the dining-room table, with blood coming from his lips, though I believe this was caused by a crushed wineglass. His pocket-book was open beneath him, in which he had been writing figures of his estate, and, I think, headings for the will he meant to make, but these I could not read since the faint pencilling was blotted out with blood.
Reminds me of a delicate wineglass crowded in among a ruck of ale flagons and battered quart-cups."
The police are after me, set on by that wretch Thorn." Mr. Carlyle turned to the sideboard and poured out a wineglass of brandy. "Drink it, Richard, it will warm you." "I'd rather have it in some hot water, sir." "But how am I to get the hot water brought in? Drink this for now. Why, how you tremble."
A little later Cæsar shuffled forward, the wineglass in his hand. The judge turned towards him. "Is that you, Cæsar?" he asked. The old negro hurried to the bedside. "Here I is, Marse George; I'se right yer." The judge laughed softly. "I wouldn't take five thousand dollars for you, Cæsar," he said. "Tom Battle offered me one thousand for you, and I told him I wouldn't take five.
By the bye, what a dear little room this is, Arranmore. We haven't dined here before, have we?" Lord Arranmore shook his head. He held up his wineglass thoughtfully as though criticizing the clearness of the amber fluid. "No!" he said. "I ordered dinner to be served in here because over our dessert I propose to offer you a novel form of entertainment." "How wonderful," Sybil said.
Ryabovitch, looking at her, hoped that she and no one else was his unknown. . . . But she laughed somehow artificially and wrinkled up her long nose, which seemed to him to make her look old. Then he turned his eyes upon the fair girl in a black dress. She was younger, simpler, and more genuine, had a charming brow, and drank very daintily out of her wineglass.
When all this had been arranged to his mind, Mr. Cranley chose another orange, filled a wineglass with the liquid in the phial, and then drew off a quantity in the little syringe. Then he very delicately and carefully punctured the skin of one of the oranges, and injected into the fruit the contents of the syringe.
Her own mother made it, and she gave me the recipe, and it isn't a bit of trouble. I'm going after dandelions to-morrow, Spike and I. Of course we'll have to be secret about it." In the sacred precincts of the Penniman parlour Wilbur Cowan raised the wineglass to his lips and tasted doubtingly. After a second considering sip he announced "They can't arrest you for that."
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